


After Hours

by faithtastic



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithtastic/pseuds/faithtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During after work drinks in the Bel Canto, LaGuerta shows Deb some moves. Set during Dexter S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Hours

Deb's complaining to Dexter that she hasn't had a date or even just sex, not since – and she stops short. No, she's not going to ruin the little tequila buzz by thinking about _him_. She's not going to get drunk and weepy and sit in the corner being the fucking miserable elephant in the room that no one wants to acknowledge.

She shrugs. "Well, you get the idea."

Dexter just nods in all the appropriate places, has a sympathetic expression on his face, but Deb can't help feeling that he just doesn't get it. Not that he should, he has Rita after all. Sometimes she really wishes she could have what they have.

She's mulling that over when Batista returns to the table with a tray of shots. "Drink up!" he grins.

LaGuerta leans over Deb to take a shot glass. "If you want to attract someone in this place you need to let your feet do the talking, Morgan."

With that, LaGuerta knocks back the tequila in one go and Deb stares up at her. "For your information I'm not here to pick up anyone."

"Is that so?" LaGuerta's lips shift into a smirk. "Then why have you spent the last twenty minutes bitching about the lack of romance in your life?"

Deb opens her mouth to respond then shuts it again. She looks to Dexter for some back-up but he's just blankly watching Masuka doing body shots off some random girl. When she looks back at LaGuerta, the other woman extends her hand.

"Come on, show me what you've got."

There's a challenge in LaGuerta's dark eyes. Deb hesitates for a moment then, with a smirk of her own, takes the other woman's outstretched hand.

***

On the floor Deb is struck by how sort of ridiculous they must look. She practically towers over Laguerta and she's all elbows and gangly limbs. Naturally, LaGuerta leads. Her hand is firm at the small of Deb's back and her other hand holds Deb's in a loose grasp.

Over LaGuerta's head, Deb sees Masuka and Batista watching them, looking like all their Christmases have come at once. They give each other a congratulatory slap on the back and Deb rolls her eyes. Guys are such jerks.

"Ignore them," LaGuerta intones, "concentrate on me."

This whole rhythm thing doesn't come easily to Deb so she watches LaGuerta's feet and tries to keep up. The other woman is a good dancer but the extent of Deb's experience is jumping around like a dork in her living room in her underwear with a hairbrush in hand.

When she inadvertently treads on LaGuerta's toes, Deb pulls away. "Sorry. Look, maybe this isn't such a good idea. I've had enough public humiliations for one lifetime."

"Morgan," LaGuerta says, a touch of exasperation in her voice. Now that's something Deb is familiar with and it makes this seem less weird. "Don't think about it too much. Don't feel the rhythm in your feet." She places her palm flat over Deb's chest. "Feel it here."

Deb just nods. She doesn't dare risk a glance at the guys; she focuses only on LaGuerta and the heat of her hand. When they start to dance again, Deb feels almost graceful.

***

Dexter takes off early to go to Rita's, leaving Deb without a ride home so she agrees to share a taxi with LaGuerta. As they leave the club, Masuka gives her the thumbs up. "Thanks, Deb. Really."

Deb just flips him off and follows LaGuerta outside.

When the taxi arrives at LaGuerta's place she invites Deb up for a nightcap and, being a few more tequilas worse for wear, Deb readily accepts.

As she's a little drunk Deb isn't exactly sure how she gets from sitting on the couch sipping a rum and coke in LaGuerta's predictably neat and nicely furnished apartment to making out with LaGuerta on said couch but she's perfectly willing to roll with it. Especially when LaGuerta shoves her back against the cushions and straddles her.

There's no small amount of fumbling with clothes – Deb struggles with the zipper of LaGuerta's skirt and eventually gives up, bunching the material up around LaGuerta's hips. She manages to get LaGuerta's shirt off and the sight of her breasts, large and full and encased in a black lacy bra, give Deb pause. Only for a second though because LaGuerta's kissing her again and rolling her hips suggestively.

The other woman says something in Spanish that Deb doesn't understand but the urgent tone conveys her meaning and all Deb can think is: _she talks dirty in Spanish_ , and, _fuck, that's hot_.

"I said - "

"No," Deb interrupts. "Don't translate."

So LaGuerta says some other stuff and Deb lets the words wash over her. She slides one hand up LaGuerta's thigh and the other woman gasps when Deb's fingers graze her underwear, slipping underneath the fabric. LaGuerta's wet, unbelievably fucking wet, and her voice takes on a higher pitch as Deb pushes two fingers inside her.

If she stopped for one moment to consider this situation, Deb would freak out but she doesn't want to think, just wants to make this woman - this woman who won't give her fucking break, who is dismissive and arrogant - come around her fingers. And when LaGuerta does come, she does it with a long, protracted moan that leaves Deb feeling triumphant.

LaGuerta sinks forward, resting her forehead on Deb's thin shoulder as she catches her breath. "That was... exceptional, Morgan."

Deb smirks. "You gonna put that in my performance review?"

LaGuerta lifts her head, meeting Deb's gaze, and suddenly she laughs. It's ridiculous but that small thing makes Deb feel almost as accomplished as bringing the other woman to orgasm did. Jesus, how fucking starved of approval must she be?

"You're better at sex than you are at dancing, that's for sure," LaGuerta says, still chuckling.

"Oh fuck you, LaGuerta," Deb says, rolling her eyes but there's no bite in her words.

"Call me Maria," the other woman says, "outside of work."

Deb stares at her, as the implications of those words sink in. Suddenly she feels like she's bitten off more than she can chew. She blinks once. "Okay. Fuck you, Maria. Better?"

LaGuerta - _Maria_ \- smiles then, a real shit-eating grin the likes of which Deb has never seen on the woman. It looks good on her. "Actually, I think it's your turn."


End file.
